


left

by Renesis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Ushijima Wakatoshi is the fluffiest of them all, abuse of the word left
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26339209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renesis/pseuds/Renesis
Summary: Being born left-handed has brought a lot of challenges to Ushijima Wakatoshi's life.It has also given him the greatest blessing of all.
Relationships: Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader
Comments: 42
Kudos: 248





	left

**Author's Note:**

> This bit me in the ass one day whilst writing Ushijima for my other fic, Ghosts We See, and I had to write it. (for those who read GWS, you probably can see how this idea might come abt from there lmao)
> 
> Please do enjoy a beautiful, reflective and fluffy Ushijima! <3

Being born left-handed has brought a lot of challenges to Ushijima Wakatoshi's life.

First, there was his mother and her side of the family. 

They saw his left-handedness as an _anomaly_ , something that needed to be fixed. A divergence.

Ushijima was young, but he heard their soft whispers in the gardens and halls of their family estate; his mother, grandmother, and aunts, sighing and bemoaning his difference.

That it is _bad luck_ to be left-handed.

Second, the world is dominated by right-handed people.

And appropriately, a lot of things were made for their convenience in mind. Scissors, zippers, mouses, machines...a plethora of designs and systems were designed for the wielders of the right hand. Ever since he was old enough to start doing things on his own, Ushijima had to constantly learn and adapt over the many years of his life, well into his young adulthood and maybe even after, to things that were made for the ruling majority. Not the minority _(_ anomalies, _bad luck)_ like him. 

There is always something new that will sprout, be invented with the march of time that only gets faster as Ushijima gets older.

Third, is the challenge of sitting at a dinner table.

Ushijima is aware that he is not the fastest in picking up social cues, but even he is not daft to the glaring lack of space between him and whoever had the misfortune to sit to his left. Even more so, or rather, _especially,_ if they are one of the ruling majority, the wielders of the right hand. 

And the chances of that were always high.

As Ushijima grew, this challenge grew with him and the changes in his body. The gap, that was almost conveniently spacious when he was but a boy, shrunk and closed as his widening shoulders and extending arms encroached on that once polite boundary.

Quick glances from his mother across the table and soft apologies to the person on his left increased in frequency over the years.

Tendou would sometimes joke that perhaps his left-handedness turned him into a social misfit and oddity, to the reprimands of Semi yelling at the redhead that Tendou, of all people, should not be saying that.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Ushijima was not shocked, but he was perturbed the first time he heard your voice speaking to him, drawing his attention to his left where you stood with your tray of food. Rarely did anyone outside of his team address him without falling over themselves stuttering or mumbling nervously. 

“No.”

“Would you mind if I sat here then? The other seats are either packed or littered with crumbs, and I would like to keep the remains of someone’s meal off my belongings if possible.” 

A quick glance around the crowded school cafeteria showed to Ushijima your exact dilemma, and the sight of spilled miso soup on one table made him answer.

“No.” He didn’t really care. 

Your brows furrowed and the friendly smile that had been on your face faltered. “Uh-”

Oh, wait. 

“You can sit.”

Your smile was back alongside a wave of relief that floated up with your previously fallen shoulders. “Thank you!” 

When you slipped into the space to his left, Ushijima reflexively moved his arm, bringing his left elbow closer to his body. 

It was a natural instinct by now, for him to preemptively make space for whoever sat to his left. 

The seat to his right was open, and Ushijima being Ushijima didn't bother too much with wondering or asking if you would be more comfortable sitting there instead, so that his long arms didn't jab you every time one of you moved to bring food to your mouths. It didn't occur to him right away that he could also have changed seats; he always sat here with Reon to his right and Tendou across from him with Semi next to him. 

Ushijima only thought that maybe he should have moved, or at least mention the other open seat, when your right arm kept brushing his left whenever you reached for your glass, and his elbow poked you in your side for the nth time. 

You flinched and giggled with a mouthful of food, spluttering an apology and that you were ticklish every time it happened.

Ushijima realized he never had anyone apologize to him at a dinner table of any kind before, not for the inevitable jabs his left-handedness would cause at least. Never mind laughing at him for it.

Ushijima also found out you talked a lot, and that you can carry on a conversation by yourself without much trouble. And he made the perfect wall for you to lob your words at.

By the time lunch was over, Ushijima knew almost everything about you. Or at least, enough to explain to his teammates who the girl sitting next to him at lunch was.

Yes, you’re the new transfer student from Tokyo due to your father’s work. Yes, you asked to sit next to him. No, he does not think you are a fan of his. No, you do not know that he is the captain of the volleyball team. No, he didn’t mention it, was there a need to? No, he does not know when your birthday is but he knows you have an elder sibling and that you love animals. 

Ushijima would, later on, ask his teammates during practice why they were sitting at the table with the spilled miso soup instead of with him at their usual table.

A _clean_ table.

“You looked like you were having fun talking to her so we thought we’d give you space!” Tendou grinned up at his friend. "Didn't want to disturb you two and all. You guys looked so cozy~!" 

Semi rolled his eyes. "It's more accurate to say that she did most of the talking." 

Ushijima's brows furrowed in confusion at his friends, particularly Tendou's teasing smile. "It wasn't cozy. My arm kept hitting her."

"It looked like she was _hitting_ on you a lot too~" Tendou quipped back without missing a beat, an underlying tease to his words.

Reon laughed at the deepening frown of confusion on Ushijima. 

Of _course_ their captain didn't pick up on Tendou's tease. 

You continued to sit to his left during lunches.

Each time it happened, Ushijima would look around the cafeteria to see if there was yet another food spill or a sudden increase in student traffic, but the first time was also the last time. 

Your arm kept brushing his and his elbows kept digging into your side. But the indignant stares and subtle complaints he had grown to expect never once came.

There were only smiles and laughter, and the occasional, "I'm ticklish!" 

He never asked you if you wanted the seat to his right, where you will have more space from him, though the thought lingered in the early beginnings. 

Over time, the thought never came to him again. Ushijima naturally thought it was because Reon had returned to take that seat to his right. The rest of his volleyball clubmates returned to the table as well, no longer sitting with spilled soup to the great relief of Semi. 

You only began figuring out they were part of the prestigious Shiratorizawa volleyball club when their conversations always turned to focus on the sport, and Tendou finally revealed to you with much excitement that Ushijima is their captain. 

Ushijima hadn't noticed himself remaining conspicuously silent, nor the subtle shift of his left arm a little further away from you. 

Many of those he met, and particularly in the school, treated him differently when they realized who he is; when they knew what sort of unattainable superstar of an entity they were speaking to. 

Perhaps, even Ushijima himself had been conditioned to expect a different treatment because of this too. 

(even if he could never put it into coherent words or conscious thought, somewhere deep inside, Ushijima knows he is human too) 

But you continued on as you always had; knocking into his left-side every time you moved, laughing and failing somewhat horribly at covering your mouthful of food, and continued lobbing words at him.

“ _You’re_ the captain? Really? Wow! What is that like? So, I guess you’re really good? How high can you jump? Wait, how tall are you again? Is everyone on the team tall? What makes a good spike? What are the rules anyway? I only know you have to jump a lot and stuff. How often do you train?”

In fact, the words came at higher speeds and with increased fervor, a myriad of inquisitive questions about volleyball and what it is like to run a team of sweaty dorks, and Ushijima found himself focusing on your words as much as he would on a powerful spike hurtling towards him from the other side of the court:

With his full intent to receive and return them. 

Ushijima never noticed Tendou quietly nudging Semi’s waist, their mouths in varying twists of surprise, at the sight of their captain slowly but surely speaking more to this person that was neither a fan nor a volleyball diehard.

“We have a game next weekend. You should come,” Ushijima cluelessly invited you and you naturally agreed with gusto.

That was the final blow for the Shiratorizawa volleyball club third-years (and soon after, the second and first years when the news traveled down the vine) to start tacitly rooting for the pair before them. It was the prestigious volleyball club’s first real ‘ship,’ and one that would continue to be myth whispered in the school halls long after they have graduated.

The team also officially dubbed any seat to Ushijima’s left as your official designated space. 

(one lunchtime, Goshiki tried to sit there out of some strange desire to fight with the current Ace and subtly force you to sit to his left out of petty competitiveness, but he was promptly booted off by Shirabu. Something about "not getting in Ushijima-san's way!").

Ushijima noticed you always sat, or stood, to his left at everything very early on, lunch naturally included. 

But it isn’t until months later, towards the end of the school year, that Ushijima finally realized his friends always pointedly left that space open for you. 

It happened during one of his regular jogs with the chilly evening air breezing past his warm skin, when it clicked in his head from out of nowhere just as he was about to turn towards his dorm room, right by the school gym.

Ushijima looked to his left then (where you would always be), towards the school gym where he spent so many of his junior and high school days with his teammates and friends, practicing till the skin of their arms burned red; where they rested on benches as snacks were passed around amongst tired chatters; where they collectively completed their hundred serves doled out by Coach Washijo; where they changed with gossip passed between the louder members in the locker rooms.

The gym where he never would have spent so much time with his teammates and friends, if not for his father and his careful nurturing.

His father protected his left hand, called it his greatest power; but it became more than that, more than just a powerful cannon that blew his opponents away. 

Ushijima felt the rarely used muscles of his cheeks lift.

♠♥♤♥♠

“Your handwriting is so neat.”

Ushijima stared at you squinting down at his permission slip where he had signed his name for the Coach. As always, you were sat to his left at the lunch table, the others still lining up for their food.

“Thanks.”

“I mean it!”

Your brows scrunched and you began fishing out your notebook from your school bag. Flipping it wide open, you showed your own handwriting to him.

“Look at mine!”

Ushijima took the notebook you all but shoved into his hands, examining your penmanship closely. He noted that you write with a pencil, compared to the rest of the student body that had a preference for pens.

Ushijima plainly and truthfully commented on it. “It’s smudged.”

“Exactly!” You exclaimed, taking your notebook back from him with a grimace. 

“Switch to a pen. It wouldn’t smudge as much.” 

A piece of logical and natural advice that is wholly Ushijima.

“Yeaaah, but the ink can still smudge! And I feel more comfortable with a pencil; I can erase my mistakes easily.” You pulled a face at your kanji notebook and Ushijima almost smiled at the sight; you had mentioned to him more than once that you hated kanji, that you didn’t do too well with it. The idea of telling you to work on your mistakes flitted past his mind but never left his mouth.

Ushijima watched as you flexed the fingers of your left hand with a look of wonder. “You’re so lucky you can write with your left hand! I wonder if it is too late for me to become ambidextrous…”

Ushijima blinked at your words in surprise.

“Why do you say that?”

Ushijima could easily think of all the inconvenient and inefficient reasons why him being left-handed had been challenging. The first time he used a computer mouse in elementary school was the worst, until he purchased one for left-handers. Ultimately, he finally discovered how to reroute the settings with the help of several friends (he never has been too technologically inclined).

“Your handwriting will never ever get smudged because we write from right to left!” You childishly sighed, flexing your left fingers once more.

You nudged into his side and patted his dominant hand with a smile as bright as day. 

“Left-handers are so lucky.” 

“You know, people nowadays write from left to right in Japanese too.” Tendou quipped as he slipped into the chair in front of the Ace.

“Yea but not always!” You protested.

Ushijima didn’t have much to say, nor did he really pay attention, to yours’ and Tendou’s fresh debate about the Japanese writing system that quickly descended into an argument about potentially discriminating remarks against right-handed people versus simply complimenting someone’s left-handed writing prowess. 

He merely looked down at his left hand, chopstick held neatly between his fingers, laid next to your right arm on the table (it was then he remembered his mother telling him many, many years ago that being left-handed is bad luck).

The spoon you held fell lax and clattered onto your plate the further your intense debate with Tendou escalated.

Your right-hand suddenly slapped the table, nearly knicking Ushijima’s chopsticks and the back of his hand.

Semi, who just joined the table, said something to you about being careful and not being rude but Ushijima didn’t mind. He didn’t tell Semi that, of course; he thought his silence was enough of a tell.

Ushijima lifted his hand to continue with his meal just as yours reached for your bowl of soup. And for a moment so quick, the skin of your hand brushed across the back of his.

It was a moment, a time, an instant, so small and quick and insignificant but it was enough to make Ushijima think. 

Perhaps being left-handed isn’t as inconvenient or as unlucky as he thought.

♠♥♤♥♠

“Toshi! I’m so sorry, did you wait long?”

“No, I just arrived.”

You grinned up at him sheepishly, round cheeks pink and flushed from your light run up to him despite the cold weather. 

His brows lightened at the view of your smile, to which the corners of your lips lifted even further with two little dots. To anyone else, Ushijima would have looked as expressionless and blank as a piece of printing paper but to you who knows every little shift of his facial tells by now, that slight lift of his brow was a very good sign: Ushijima is relaxed and content; happy.

“Thank god! We’re still going to be a bit early for the reunion party with the others but I was so worried I made you wait! It’s cold out today.”

“Do you need a heating pad? I brought one for you.”

You giggled but shook your head no, cheeks flushing redder at his sweet gesture. “Nope, don’t need it because you’re here now~! You’re my personal heater!”

Ah, that’s right. That he is, as you often tell him ever since the two of you began dating.

So as your personal heater, Ushijima lifted his right-hand for you to take, noting your favorite drink curled around your own right-hand.

A pout crossed your lips, and the drink was swiftly traded into your other hand. Shuffling to his left-side, you slipped your right-hand into his left, with yet another cheeky grin, and a song in your voice.

“It’s more comfortable this way~”

This time, a smile accompanied the soft lift of his brow; a content, happy smile.

His hand, larger than yours by far, gently squeezed yours, eliciting a serene hum from you as you snuggled into his side. The cozy heat that always coursed through his body seeped into yours despite the layers of clothing. 

And though you claimed to be cold and that you will steal all his body heat, Ushijima has never felt warmer than he does now.

“It certainly is.”

♠♥♤♥♠

Ushijima stood straight, and maybe even a little tense, as he stood before the man who would bind you and him together forever, for a second time.

His mother insisted on a traditional wedding, naturally. That had taken place just a week ago for his and your family members, and a handful of select close friends in attendance.

This one though is for all of both your friends combined (and family members that wish to attend your union to him a second time).

It was a strange thing in his traditional family to have a church wedding; different really, but here he is, standing to your right and you to his left, as you always have. 

You had always dreamt of wearing the white dress and walking down the aisle. So even though you said you were fine with having a traditional wedding, who was Ushijima to deny you your wishes and dreams? 

When he finally got down on his knees before you and your eyes sparkled like raining stars, Ushijima had silently promised himself, and you, that he will give you everything that you deserved.

He promised it to the ring and stone that shone in his left hand as he raised it, slipping it perfectly onto the fourth finger of _your left_ hand, that he will make you as happy as you made him.

Happier, even.

Now, as he felt your fingers sneakily tickle the back of his left hand whilst the faux-looking priest spoke, Ushijima definitely did not mind the extra hit his bank account has taken to have a second wedding.

Not when it felt so right, so perfect, to have you here by his _left side_ once again, with you looking ethereal in your simple white dress as you did during the first wedding in your grand and equally white _shirokakeshita_ kimono.

You look beautiful in white.

Ushijima doubts he will ever get tired of being wedded to you, and he might already be saving for another wedding for your 20th anniversary. 

His left hand slipped into your right, slowly turning you so that you fully faced him.

Whatever small tension he might have had prior slipped away, dispersing into the air alongside the breath that left him at the sight of you, blushing exactly like a bride.

He felt your hand squeeze his left.

“I do.”

♠♥♤♥♠

Being born left-handed has brought a lot of blessings to Ushijima Wakatoshi's life.

First, it expanded his horizons in volleyball.

Under the caring and dedicated protection of his father, being left-handed became one of his most powerful weapons. It blasted wide open walls that seek to deter him, carving out the path to victory for him and his team, over and over. It held the firepower that turns an unassuming ball into a spinning bullet of pure speed and power. 

But that was not the only thing it expanded for Ushijima. 

It gave him his friends, especially Tendou, his best friend.

It also gave him years worth of memories and experiences that shaped him into the person he is, that he will be, as he moves towards the world stage to represent his country in the Olympics. 

Second, his writing never got smudged. Never.

And third…

In his childhood, he thought of his left-handedness as something he had to be careful of whenever he sat with his family and others at the dinner table. 

Now, your right-hand constantly knocked into his as you ate, with words of compliments for his grandmother’s cooking spilling from your mouth during New Year’s Eve, and Ushijima thinks that there will never be a day where he will get tired of it. 

(The third is the greatest blessing that being left-handed has brought to Ushijima’s life.)

His left hand is the hand that bears the golden band that told the world with a quiet power, a power much like Ushijima himself, unashamed and unabashed, that he is yours and you are his.

And Ushijima feels blessed.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please do leave a comment if you enjoyed this story :)  
> And if you enjoyed it, please do check out my Haikyuu reverse harem series Ghosts We See and my Miya Osamu one-shot <3 *shameless self-promotion*
> 
> Thank you for reading and now we can all dream of holding hands with Ushiwaka TwT


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